Dark Moon

You think one piece of dark chocolate after dinner won’t keep you awake.

You think it’s still dark at 6:00 AM because it rained last night and must still be cloudy.

You think there is still plenty of summer left even though you begin your morning on the back porch in slippers, a red pashmina draped over your fleece jumper.

You think there isn’t a chance in hell the upcoming election will go smoothly, but you hope democracy will survive.

You thought as you lay awake in your dark bed, about your ballot request working its way through the system, about how you should have cooked the mushrooms you found in the woods a little longer, about your friend who ate raw chanterelles and lived, and about how you will use the small, yellow peppers in your vegetable drawer.

You fell asleep, thinking, and dreamed your daughter had left her husband for an over-confident young woman who fixes your hair with a dozen bobby pins. In your dream, you all headed off to meet your friends for a walk in the park but got sidelined by a demonstrative hotel manager. You kissed your daughter’s husband on the cheek making him cry, and were swept into a tour of the opulent grounds.

You woke in the dark after a woman with perfect teeth stole your daughter’s baby through a hole in the bathroom wall behind the sinks. You and Bob and your daughter and her lover took action as orchestrated by the manager, running in all directions hoping to catch the culprit and recover your grandchild. You raced down a stairwell, grasping the cold handrail and emerged in a bright, babyless courtyard.

You lay there, your mind returning to the pepper drawer, and think you will not eat a piece of chocolate after dinner, especially tonight on this dark moon day.